Joey's World

I woke up this morning feeling like maybe yesterday was just a really great dream. But judging by the way I slept I figured it was real. I haven’t woken up feeling this rested since the doctor put me on tranquilizers and I spent three days in my bed, unable to pry my drugged head from the pillow. But when I was out in the front yard this morning (having coffee with my neighbor while our children played on the lawn in their diapers AND NOTHING ELSE—white trashin’ it like it’s 1972 and children can go around barefoot and free! I fully expect one of the neighbors to mention my practically naked child outside playing, in some context or another, in the next few days) the FedEx truck arrived with a package for me. And it was confirmed.

So I was leisurely reading through the offer packet this morning, and some thoughts I had were at first hmm, which medical program should I pick? And then wow, I never knew there were so many ways a person could get fired AND be brought up on criminal charges at the same time. And finally my mind shifted to a detail infinitely more important than proper medical coverage and legally binding confidentiality agreements. The one detail that I’d overlooked in this whole thing. I don’t own a bag good enough for my new fancy job!

I have an assortment of handbags and cute purses in all different colors and sizes, and if I need to carry something bigger I have my favorite Nike backpack (school bus yellow) and my Patagonia messenger bag (fluorescent green). And lately I’ve been using the most perfect bag in all creation, the Kate Spade diaper bag that Eli got me for Mother’s day that doesn’t look like a diaper bag at all except for the insulated pouches and changing pad inside. You’d think with my collection I’d have it covered, right? Wrong. I need a business bag. Not a briefcase, but something that looks nice and will hold all my work stuff and a laptop. So I’ve decided I can delay the Grand Week of Big Fun I have planned for Joey by one afternoon. Anyway, bag shopping is about him too since he needs an insulated lunch box for school, and I’m thinking something…Elmo. Or Builder Bob. Dark, masculine colors. With washable material. Something fashionable, yet boyish. (GWoF is a concept I came up with yesterday after receiving the job offer and realizing that I’ve been spending a lot of time frantically worrying and obsessively waiting for phone calls and sitting in front of my online banking program trying to figure out how to play around with the bills creatively enough so that no one will realize that we’re not paying them, and in general just not being very much fun. Joey will probably forget he even has a mama after I’m back at work for a few days. So I’m planning on counteracting this unavoidable side-effect of employment by making next week the best week of his life. Though I suppose it could backfire and make him miss me even more once I’m not around all the time)

One thing I’ve noticed over the last couple of days is that it is impossible to get a big head or feel like some kind of fancypants with Joey around to remind me that I am, at the core of my being, first before anything else, from now until I die, his mother. And as such I will be subject to his daily abuse and I will just put up with it because this is Joey’s World and in Joey’s World you cannot write someone up for harassment or fire them for insubordination. And this is what happens when I forget that.

 

 
Check it. That's where I got bit on the leg. Hard. Broke the skin and everything and left a huge ugly bruise (about the size of a silver dollar) that looks like what would happen to your skin after a bite involving a serpent and necrotic venom. I’ve shown my mark to a lot of people and it is so base in its ugliness that every single person immediately asked me what I did to Joey after he attacked me. As though I’d be like, Yeah, so I fucking kicked his ass and told him: son, you best be keepin those baby teeth off my AUTHORITAY! What the fuck do you think I did? I was startled and pulled my leg away in shock, then after inspecting the damage, scooped the child up, walked upstairs with his body hanging over my forearm like a sack of potatoes, and without a word deposited him into his crib where he would be safe. I mean, he had to be sleepy, right? Because what kind of person would do something so deranged to another person, especially when that other person gave you fucking LIFE, unless they were literally de-fucking-lirious with exhaustion. Right?

Joey knew I was angry by the way I picked him up and by the lack of pre-naptime sweet talk and singing I usually indulge him in. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I wouldn’t even be able to speak English, as my rage would overwhelm my vocabulary and leave me sputtering the devil’s latin.

In case you’re wondering, I’ve forgiven him and unless I have to go to the hospital to be treated for a bacterial infection (he broke the skin with his razor sharp baby teeth, providing a direct passage into my bloodstream for anything gross that may be living in his mouth) we will put the whole thing behind us and move on. But this serves as a reminder that like the human mouth, Joey’s World can be a dark and dangerous place. And just because something is small and cute doesn't mean it can't fuck your shit up. I live with a Gremlin.

Comments

[Mallika]

Ouch. Hope that heals soon.